


True Scotsmen

by dreamerbee



Series: Bit Like Shakespeare [3]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamerbee/pseuds/dreamerbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never underestimate the power of kilts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Scotsmen

**London, 1996**

 

Catherine woke up on that chilly Sunday morning to the unpleasant feeling of someone jabbing her ribs with their finger and whispering in her ear, insistently, in an ungodly hour.

“Catherine. Wake up, Catherine. Catherine Catherine Catherine, wake up wake up wake up…”

“David” She sighed, defeated, as she sleepily and crossly opened one eye to peek at him, murder tinting her voice “Why in heavens are you waking me up this early on a Sunday?”

“Well...” He swallowed and sheepishly scratched his left cheek, “I’m sorry. It’s just we’ll be leaving in two hours and I’ll start packing the car and I can’t find your suitcase anywhere. Where did you leave it?”

Catherine blinked. Sleep was probably muddling her thoughts. Did he just say “suitcase”?

“Pardon? …David, did you say ‘suitcase’?”

He looked at her as if she was a deranged individual.

“Yes, I did. Your suitcase. Where did you leave it?”

“…What would I even need a suitcase for?”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Catherine. Tell me you didn’t forget the talk we had last week.”

“Of course I didn’t!” Of course she did. David sighed and ran a hand through his still not combed bed-hair.

“My nephew’s christening, remember?”

And suddenly she _did_ remember. David’s brother’s first child had just been born and the McDonald clan had been all in an uproar. They had been up just two weeks prior, to visit the baby for the first time. And now she could vaguely recall David telling her they would need to travel for the christening as well, something she didn’t quite register at the time because she was too engrossed on the play she was reading.

“Oh, fuck!”

David rolled his eyes in mock irritation.

“Now you really need to get up, love. You need to pack and be ready to leave in two hours. C’mon, we can’t be late for this.”

“Shit shit shit _SHIT_!” She bolted from the bed, picked up her still-not-completely-unpacked case from their latest trip from its spot behind the door and started frantically removing the used clothes from it.

“David, I need you to fetch my blue dress for me. The good one. Please?”

“Here ya go.”

“Thanks” She quickly stuffed her single party dress inside her luggage, trying not to think of the state it would be in when they arrived “Which suit did you pick?”

David only had two suits, a black suit and a brown suit to be used if by some chance the black suit wasn’t available, but she had never seen him wearing either of them. Their less-than-glamorous life wasn’t filled with many opportunities to endow a suit, but strangely, when opportunities did present themselves, there was always a problem with both and David usually ended in jeans anyway.

Catherine didn’t think they were going to let him get off with showing up in jeans today, though, and she could feel curiosity mingling with her frenzied anxiety as she rushed to get everything ready in record time.

And strangely, David didn’t answer.

“You are taking a suit, aren’t you?” She asked, eyebrow arched.

“Hm. Something like that.” He answered cagily. Catherine decided it wasn’t the best occasion to press him for details and turned once again her focus to her still alarmingly empty case.

 

 

They had left home (late), driven north and miraculously made it in time; now Catherine was giving the last touches on her very light make-up while she got ready for the service. She frowned at her own reflection as she scrutinized herself and smoothed the wrinkles on her blue dress. It was nowhere near what she would _like_ to be wearing when submitted to David’s whole family judgement for the first time, but it would have to do.

She left the bedroom she was sharing with Karen and went to David’s old bedroom, softly knocking on the still closed door.

“David!” She called in her sweetest voice “Are you decent, love?”

It was a rather stupid question to ask. Catherine couldn’t care less if he was decent or not.

And sure enough he started laughing out loud. She took this as her cue to enter.

 “Why are you taking so long to get ready, though? I’m already dressed and people say I’m the one who’s supposed to be late; anyone would think I wear the pants in this relationship—”

She stopped abruptly and snorted. He looked up at her from the buckles he had been fastening and blushed fiercely.

“Ok, you laugh all you want. Go on.”

“Gosh, David--”

Well, he did say she could laugh, didn’t he?

His blush deepened as he fiddled with the hem of his kilt.

“Please, don’t. My mum made me wear it.”

“Oh, love-” She gasped, still breathless with laughter “You look _adorable_!”

“Well, excuse me! This is my Scottish heritage right here! I wasn’t supposed to look _adorable_! I was supposed to look serious and composed! All the men in the family are wearing it!”

Catherine didn’t reply; instead, she once again started giggling madly as David struggled with his sporran.

“How do I even put on this thing properly!?”

He fumed as he tried to adjust the buckle, tugging insistently at its chain.

“Is it supposed to look like this?”

“I don’t know!” He spat helplessly.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to look like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems too low.”

“It’s not!”

“David,” She blushed slightly “it’s outlining parts or your anatomy you probably don’t want see outlined during your nephew’s-”

“David!” Helen entered the room, frowning “Why aren’t you ready? We’ve been waiting for you two!”

She stared at Catherine somewhat pointedly – and somewhat disapprovingly - and Catherine could swear she actually felt her blush intensify. Even though she had done nothing wrong.

Oh well. So long for keeping a good reputation.

“Mum, I can’t put on this thing!”

“Honestly, David.” Helen sighed and went to him, swiftly adjusting the small pouch around his waist, “There you go. Want help with the pin and the sgian dubh as well?”

“I think I can manage from here. Thanks, mum.”

“Don’t mention it.” She motioned to leave and turned as she reached the door, “Catherine, dear, won’t you come with me, please? We could use some help downstairs. There you go. Atta girl.”

Catherine followed Helen out of the room, but not before discreetly making a face at her boyfriend, who was now shaking with silent laughter.

‘Payback’, he mouthed cheekily and blew her a kiss before turning to fetch his waistcoat and his jacket from their spot on his bed.

 

 

Catherine could say she appreciated Scotland as much as the next girl. It was a quite lovely country. Lochs. Highlands. Fried food.

But she suddenly found herself fervently wishing for a regular posh party, with all men in their regular posh suits. She had to admit to herself the kilts thing was starting to make her feel a tiny bit uncomfortable.

It wasn’t the men wearing kilts per se. She probably couldn’t even say it was the kilts themselves, but instead a conjunction of factors and also a particular kilt, belonging to a particular man, who happened to be sitting by her side as they made small talk with a wide variety of people in his brother’s back yard, during the christening’s after party.

She tried her best to focus on other things, she truly did. But it wasn’t easy.  First because she knew no one there besides David’s parents and siblings, who were obviously all too busy at the time to give her undivided attention, so the whole party consisted of one big parade of aunts and uncles and friends and neighbours, all shaking her hand and cracking jokes about a wedding being the next big family gathering.

Second because he looked _so damn good_ in that thing.

She didn’t give it much thought at first; he was looking embarrassed, and an embarrassed David was too good an opportunity to let pass unfazed without even a tiny bit of teasing; furthermore, he wasn’t wearing the whole attire at the time. The jacket did wonders for him. She could now see why the whole thing was so appealing. She could perfectly picture a long queue of medieval Highland girls fanning themselves. She wouldn’t blame them in the slightest.

And, she added as an after-though, they didn’t have aftershave during medieval times. The man was sitting beside her, practically pressed up against her side, smelling of aftershave and soap and overall cleanliness and _freshness_ and this was doing _things_ to her.

 _Things_ she shouldn’t be feeling during her possibly-perhaps-who-knows-one-day-in-the-distant-future-nephew’s christening.

_“Oh, dear, did you know auntie spent your whole christening thinking of nothing but dragging Uncle Dave by his lapels straight behind one of those well-trimmed shrubberies your parents grow in your back yard and shagging him senseless?”_

Not a thing to go in the family album.

At last Aunt Whatshername left their table and went away to pester other guests with marriage jokes. Catherine looked around, watching two men she assumed were McDonald uncles talking, when suddenly a thought struck her.

The thought made her even squirmier than before.

“Catherine, are you alright? You’re blushing.”

“Say, David…” She trailed off, suddenly lowering her eyes and becoming very interested in her own hands.

“What?”

“Say… Are they all--” She dropped her voice to a nervous whisper “Are they all really _going commando_ under these kilts?” 

David snorted and there were several startled people turning in their direction. He swiftly went under the table and started having a laughing fit, as quietly as he could.

“Dropped my fork”, he announced grinning to the ones who were still watching the exchange somewhat wearily as he returned to his chair.  Catherine leaned against him, embarrassed and irritated.

“This is not funny! It’s making me very uncomfortable!”

“I have to disagree. It _is_ very funny.”

“It’s not! Just tell me already, David, are they or aren’t they naked!?”

The old lady sitting by Catherine’s other side threw her a dirty look.

“Ah,” He whispered, his grin never faltering, “that’s for me to know and for you to find out, isn’t it?”

The cheeky bastard. She wanted to kill him.

But not before snogging the living daylights out of him.

"On another note," He muttered, moving closer still ever so slightly "I really like this dress of yours."

"Wha--”

"It's, y'know, very flattering. Nice cut. Highlights some of your best features."

And then he was pointedly staring at her cleavage, his broad, malicious grin still in place; suddenly, Catherine couldn't take it anymore.

"The bathroom," She stammered as she got up, rather abruptly and gracelessly, "I... I need the loo. Back in a moment."

 

 

“You can do it, Catherine,” She whispered without conviction, her own reflection’s scrutinizing gaze staring at her from the sink’s mirror, “you can do it. You can go through this evening without making a huge fool of yourself and without making David’s family hate you. Pull yourself together.”

Letting out one last sigh, she steeled herself and opened the door.

A very baffled David was leaning against the threshold and looked down at her.

“Cath. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine”, she mumbled and attempted to push past him. He blocked her path, still looking confused.

“No, you’re not. We were just joking around, like we do, and suddenly you got up and left. What’s wrong with you?”

“N-nothing--!” She stuttered nervously, slowly backing off and going inside the room she was – somewhat desperately – trying to leave, “I’m fine—Completely fine. I swear. Let’s just go back to the party, ok…?”

“Are you sure?” He eyed her with suspicion as he slowly entered the bathroom, inadvertently ( _or perhaps not_ , a small, treacherous part of Catherine’s conscience whispered in her ear) trapping her against the small restroom’s farthest wall. “You don’t seem completely fine to me.”

“I am, though…” Her voice dropped to a whisper as he got closer and closer, his dratted aftershave engulfing her and muddling her thoughts; she wanted him, right _there_ , right in that tiny restroom, right against that wall – and this was so _wrong_.

He kept looking at her, just _looking_ at her, his brow furrowed and his forehead wrinkled in concentration; she wondered if he could sense the heat which was most certainly emanating from her body and nervously eyed him up and down, taking in his whole figure, so damn _close_ to her…

Then his eyes widened and his dropped, realization clearly dawning on his features. He smirked slightly, once again dropping his gaze to contemplate her cleavage, now from a privileged point of view.

Catherine wanted to drop dead from sheer embarrassment.

He approached her and steadily put his hands on her hips; his pace made the exchange seem almost reverent as he settled his grasp on her waist and leaned to nuzzle her temple, ever so gently.

“I see.”

He whispered and his voice was low and hoarse.

“I _see._ ”

He repeated it and it wasn’t judgemental, it wasn’t condemning or teasing; she looked up until their gazes were locked and she could see concern fading from his eyes to leave only lust in its place; it was pure desire – desire and a faint blush which quickly spread on his cheeks.

She wouldn’t blame him for being embarrassed, not when she surely was embarrassed as well. They seemed vaguely detached, neither quite believing what they were doing; yet neither faltered as David reached for the door and locked it in a swift motion.

They moved slowly – ever so slowly as she threw her hands around his neck and buried them in his hair; it was almost like some sort of previous arrangement, as if rushing would somehow break the spell. Catherine’s most rational side was frantically telling her they shouldn’t be doing this, that they should be back to the party soon. People would realize they were missing and what would his family _think_?

But her rational side was fading quickly. Now his hands were moving up and down, caressing her back and her waist and her hips; now her head was tilted back and his lips were on her neck, purposefully heading for her décolletage; now he was pressing her against the wall, firmly, and she could _feel_ him against her as his hand dropped from her waist and trailed down her left thigh, caressing her through the lace and the silk, reaching the hem of her knee-length dress.

He stopped kissing the top of her breasts and instead kissed her mouth; the kisses where long and sensual, her face heated against his and she could feel it heating even further as his hand started going up the way it had gone down, though now it was _under_ her skirt, his fingertips softly touching her bare skin.

There was no noise, no expletives or fevered whispers of “ _I love you”_ and “ _I want you so,_ so _much…_ ”; she didn’t moan as he traced her inner thigh and unhesitatingly started rubbing her through her pants, merely sighing and dropping her head against his shoulder when he slipped his fingers under the fabric so they could be in contact with her skin.

She disentangled one of her own hands from his hair and went to reach him under his kilt; she grinned and rolled her eyes as she realized he _was_ wearing underwear after all. She pushed them down and promptly caressed him, much as he had done to her earlier.

His panting was virtually silent, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes firmly closed.

He loosened his grasp on her and removed his hand, instead using it to lift her leg, his eyes searching hers, slightly hesitant, slightly haunted; asking for permission.

Her nod was almost imperceptible, but he could notice it anyway. He once again nuzzled his prized spot on her neck, relishing on their closeness, on her unique scent; he placed her leg around his waist as she clumsily pulled up his kilt.

They didn’t hush, not even when he was pressing against her, his rhythm focused as he tried not to come too fast; in the end she wasn’t ready when he no longer was able to hold on, but still he reached for her with his fingers, caressing her until he could feel her clenching around him, gasping and letting out a single tiny whisper.

“ _David.”_

They held each other as they slowly sunk to the floor.

 

 

“So...”

“Hmm?” He stretched and lazily opened his eyes.

“Really, what a shame, David.”

“…Eh?”

“I mean, look at you. You’re supposed to be a true Scotsman, and yet you wear underwear with your kilt. Shameful, really.”  

He giggled, leaning his head against the wall.

“Seriously, Catherine, what do you take me for? Going commando under a kilt is very unhygienic.”

“Yeah, ‘cos what you just did in this kilt was the picture of hygiene. We need to clean ourselves, y’know. My make-up is completely ruined and God forbid we go down there with our clothes looking like this.”

“Fine, _mum_.” He stuck his tongue at her and poked her ribs; she shrieked and swatted his hand.

“Stop it! We’ve just shagged and you’re calling me ‘mum’. How wrong is that?”

“It’s very psychoanalytical, I think.”

“ _Do_ stop.”

“Fine, fine.” He smiled broadly, but it slowly faded as he realized Catherine wasn’t smiling back. “Cath? What’s wrong now?”

She buried her face in her hands.

“I think your family may hate me.”

“What?”

“Your family! They hate me!”

“Wait, wait, stop right there. Where is this coming from?”

She drew a deep breath and turned her head to avoid his gaze.

“Well, your uncles and your aunts and everybody…” She hesitated for a bit before continuing, “And I think your mother doesn’t like me.”

“Ok, let’s get one thing straight.” He put his hands on her shoulders, gently forcing her to look at him, “My family adores you. My brother and my sister like you at least as much as they like me. Dad absolutely loves you – I think he may like you more than he likes Karen, but please don’t tell them I’ve told you that. Everyone who was here today was completely under you spell. You may have miffed great-aunt Maisie talking about men and what they don’t wear under their kilts, but I don’t think she’ll hold it against you for long. I bet she rather likes a kilt herself, aunt Maisie--”

She raised her hand to her mouth and started anxiously nibbling her own nails.

“…What about your mother, though? I mean… She’s very nice and very polite, she just seems rather…” She bit her lower lip, looking for the right word, “Distant.”

“Well, I reckon she’s just… Y’know, being my mum.” He shrugged, “Mums will be mums, I suppose. She’ll always see me as the little boy she needs to take care of. But it doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you, Cath. She would be very clear if she didn’t.”

She blinked, still unsure.

“Do you mean it? Aren’t you just saying this so I’ll feel better?”

“Would I ever do this to you?”

“No,” she admitted coyly. He leaned to kiss her.

“David,” she muttered amongst small kisses, “we really need to go…”

“Five minutes. Just five minutes?”

“Oh, alright.” She rolled her eyes in mock irritation and smiled at last. “But just five minutes, mind you.”

 

 

After another couple of hours and a few half-hearted excuses as to why they had disappeared for such a long time, it was finally – _finally_ – time to go home.

She walked ahead of him, all smiles and glowing cheeks, glancing back from time to time.

“She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”

He turned to see his mother standing by his side, a tiny smile of her own gracing her features.

“Aye.” He grinned, “She is.”

“You take care of her, David. Don’t make this one cry. And don’t let her walk away.”

“Ah, don’t worry, mum.” He scrutinized her back, her lovely hair and her dress’ skirt gently swaying as she walked, “I don’t intend to.”

 

He wanted her with him forever.

And he would do everything to assure she would stay.

 

_end._


End file.
